Lola saved it, however.  She rushed to Dale.

“Do you know what Mr. de Gex was just telling me?  His illness—­it is worse than any one thought.  It’s incurable.  He can’t live long; he must die soon.  It’s dreadful—­dreadful!  Did you know it?”

Dale looked from her to me, and after a slight pause, came forward.

“Is this true, Simon?”

A plague on the woman for catching me in the trap!  Before Dale came in I was on the point of putting an airy construction on my indiscreet speech.  I had no desire to discuss my longevity with any one.  I want to keep my miserable secret to myself.  It was exasperating to have to entrust it even to Dale.  And yet, if I repudiated her implied explanation of our apparent embrace it would have put her hopelessly in the wrong.  I had to support her.

“It’s what the doctors say,” I replied, “but whether it’s true or not is another matter.”

Again he looked queerly from me to Lola and from Lola back to me.  His first impression of our attitude had been a shock from which he found it difficult to recover.  I smiled, and, although perfectly innocent, felt a villain.

“Madame Brandt is good enough to be soft-hearted and to take a tragic view of a most commonplace contingency.”

“But it isn’t commonplace.  By God, it’s horrible!” cried the boy, the arrested love for me suddenly gushing into his heart.  “I had no idea of it.  In Heaven’s name, Simon, why didn’t you tell me?  My dear old Simon.”

Tears rushed into his eyes and he gripped my hand until I winced.  I put my other hand on his shoulder and laughed with a contorted visage.

“My good Dale, the moribund are fragile.”

“Oh, Lord, man, how can you make a jest of it?”

“Would you have me drive about in a hearse, instead of a cab, by way of preparation?”

“But what have the doctors told you?” asked Lola.

“My two dear people!” I cried, “for goodness’ sake don’t fall over me in this way.  I’m not going to die to-morrow unless my cook poisons me or I’m struck by lightning.  I’m going to live for a deuce of a time yet.  A couple of weeks at least.  And you’ll very much oblige me by not whispering a word abroad about what you’ve heard this afternoon.  It would cause me infinite annoyance.  And meanwhile I suggest to you, Dale, as the lawyers say, that you have been impolite enough not to say how-do-you-do to your hostess.”

He turned to her rather sheepishly, and apologised.  My news had bowled him over, he declared.  He shook hands with her, laughed and walked Adolphus about on his hind legs.

“But where have you dropped from?” she asked.

“Berlin.  I came straight through.  Didn’t you get my wire?”

“No.”

“I sent one.”

“I never got it.”

He swung his arms about in a fine rage.

“If ever I get hold of that son of Satan I’ll murder him.  He was covered up to his beastly eyebrows in silver lace and swords and whistles and medals and things.  He walked up and down the railway station as if he owned the German navy and ran trains as a genteel hobby.  I gave him ten marks to send the telegram.  The miserable beast has sneaked the lot.  I’ll get at the railway company through the Embassy and have the brute sacked and put in prison.  Did you ever hear of such a skunk?”